


The sunlight that shines shortly after

by laceblade



Series: truth in the thunder / love in the lightning [2]
Category: Pod Save America (RPF)
Genre: Future Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-07
Updated: 2017-09-07
Packaged: 2018-12-24 21:14:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12021126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laceblade/pseuds/laceblade
Summary: [Direct sequel to 'Due to Crisis,' but Lovett POV instead of Tommy's.]The enormity of what’s gone down in the past four days weighs on him like a wet coat, and it’s all Jon Lovett can do to keep doggedly ignoring that in favor of jokes, of distractions, of Tommy.





	The sunlight that shines shortly after

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [raanve](https://archiveofourown.org/users/raanve) for the beta. Thanks to Gnarls Barkley for the title.

The enormity of what’s gone down in the past four days weighs on him like a wet coat, and it’s all Jon Lovett can do to keep doggedly ignoring that in favor of jokes, of distractions, of Tommy.

He’s standing in Tommy’s office - his office in the White House, because that NEVER stops being disorienting - and Tommy’s smiling at him in a way that’s making it hard to remember how to breathe. Not like it usually is, just because Tommy’s so fucking pretty, but more like because Tommy just kissed him a lot and low-key offered to take him home and fuck.

So. That’s pretty awesome.

“Here,” Tommy says, pressing a protein bar into his hand. Jon doesn’t remember Tommy walking away or coming back, so that’s probably bad. Granted, it’s been a while since he’s had food and he’d definitely taken his FBI-provided painkillers on a completely empty stomach.

Tommy takes the protein bar back, searching Jon’s eyes with concern, and unwraps it himself. He breaks off a piece and places it in Jon’s hand.

“Sure you don’t want to chew it for me first?” Jon asks acidly, mostly to prove that he is in complete control of his faculties, but also to make Tommy stop worrying about him. Tommy has important things to worry about, like international proxy wars and Kim Jong Un.

“I would if you needed me to,” Tommy says sincerely, and Jon swipes the rest of the bar out of his hand with a smack. 

“Just, gross. Go pack up your shit or whatever you need to do.” He’s pretty sure Tommy’s giggling.

Jon makes his way to the black leather couch that’s very comfortable and would be great for sex, and mourns that there is no universe in which Tommy Vietor would ever let them fuck on a piece of White House furniture where people he meets with are going to sit while discussing life-or-death foreign policy matters.

He winces as he takes a seat. Like, breathing is already painful, and engaging his abdominal muscles just makes it worse.

Chewing another bite of the disgusting protein bar, he regretfully traces his finger across the leather as his brain helpfully starts flipping through recent memories, still reeking with adrenaline and fear, of how his arms hurt from tight plastic bindings, how the sunlight filtered in through a fractured warehouse window, of how his FBI case manager (interrogator) frowned after finally realizing that Lovett didn’t have any useful information about his Russian kidnappers.

He blinks and then accepts a bottle of chilled water from Tommy, who’s standing in front of him with a concerned frown, but thank God doesn’t say anything, just turns back to his desk.

Lovett takes a swig from the water bottle before screwing the cap back on. Tommy’s organizing the papers on his desk and reaching for his briefcase as well as his power cord.

Tommy’s back is so straight and his hair is so blond that he deserves every WASP joke Lovett has ever made about him. Scowling, Jon fishes his phone out of the pocket of the oversized FBI-stamped sweatpants, and opens a Whatsapp with Emily.

> Jon Lovett: I’m really sorry, but do you mind keeping Pundit for another night?
> 
> Emily: I heard from Jon, I’m so glad you’re okay, Lovett. We really love you.
> 
> Emily: Tommy was bereft.
> 
> Emily: Of course we can keep Pundit, but are you sure? She misses you and I bet you need some puppy cuddles. Are you okay? Can we come over and help you? I’ll bring you dinner.

Jon’s scrolled back up to, _Tommy was bereft_ and views this sentence dispassionately, allowing himself a brief glance at Tommy’s back.

He fires off a casual reply: _I’m actually staying over at Tommy’s to get laid. He already fed me a protein bar and I’m sure the other 4.5 food groups will follow soon. Tell Pundit I say woof._

“Ready?” Tommy’s smiling down at him, briefcase in one hand and the other stretched out to take his good arm and help him up.

“ _Am_ I,” Jon says, taking Tommy’s hand and pulling himself up. 

He glances at his phone just enough to see Emily’s _WAIT WHAT?!_ response and smirks as he drops his phone back in his pocket.

Tommy lets go of his arm once he’s sure Jon’s not going to fall over, and then he leans forward and kisses his cheek. 

Jon’s baffled because it’s not hot or sexual, it’s just _nice_. Tommy fucking Vietor.

Tommy waits for Jon to start walking first, and then keeps his hand firmly on his lower back, where his spine starts to curve in, like doing so will protect him from anyone else who might be thinking about kidnapping Jon.

His back feels warm and tingly there, like Tommy’s hand is somehow giving off an energy, when in reality he’s probably just hyper-aware of the sensation of kind human touch after what he’s been through, and also he’s horny as fuck.

As they pass next to the security check station in the lobby, Tommy murmurs, “Did the FBI give you a vibrator while you were there, or has your phone just been going since we left my office?”

“Oh yeah, whoops,” Jon says, pulling his phone back out and then smiling at the barrage of messages from Emily and one from Favs. “I kind of told Emily why I wasn’t coming to get Pundit tonight…apparently she had some follow-up questions and concerns for me.”

Tommy barks a laugh. “I’ll bet she does!”

“I hope that’s okay,” Jon says quickly. “That they like. Know.”

“Of course it’s okay,” Tommy says, giving him a look that Jon can’t read. “Why wouldn’t it be okay?”

_In case you change your mind before anything even happens_  
_In case it’s terrible_  
_In case you wake up tomorrow and realize what you’ve done_  
_Because Emily assumes this means we’re ~together~ and not just for a night_

He’s not even nervous about it, this is just how his brain operates when someone asks a horrible question, like, “Please come up with a list of every terrible outcome, okay, go!”

Jon ends up just not answering Tommy’s question, and Tommy doesn’t push.

Emily’s questions end with, WE ARE HAVING BRUNCH TOMORROW AND YOU WILL TELL ME EVERYTHING.

Favs has only sent one message, which is, _geddit Lovett_ , which actually does make him erupt with laughter, which is unfortunately quite painful and makes Tommy concerned all over again.

They’ve somehow made it to Tommy’s mammoth suburban, which is a ridiculous car to have in D.C. but made a lot of sense back in L.A. where going ANYWHERE required at least an hour of travel by car, no matter how close by it appeared on a map. Now it just looks like part of the Secret Service fleet.

Not for the first time, Jon feels grateful for how freakishly clean Tommy keeps his vehicle. It’s nice, and the air conditioning is making him feel like he can actually breathe again. Fuck D.C.’s humidity.

He settles himself carefully in the leather seat, adjusting his sling and the arm it’s holding so that it won’t jostle much, and giggles a little bit when Tommy helps him buckle the seatbelt and lets his fingers linger on Lovett’s.

Tommy’s over in the driver’s seat, being all ~attentive driver~, so Lovett slips his phone back out and surreptitiously checks Twitter, following a link to the speech POTUS gave about Ukraine and not giving in to blackmail almost immediately.

“ _Tommy!_ ” he says, only a few lines in. “Did you write this? I can tell it was you, _you_ wrote this! Did you write this for _me?_ ”

“Lovett, I don’t even know what you’re talking about,” Tommy says, but there’s a smile ghosting around his mouth.

Jon’s thumbing through the rest of the speech, but he already knows how the scenario ends. “Tommy, did you get the U.S. to support defending Ukraine over _me?_ ” Lovett is beaming. “That’s so sweet, but you know, definitely setting expectations high at the outset. Like, how could any future gift possibly live up to this? It won’t. Nothing will. ‘Sall a downward slope from here on out.”

Satisfied when he finally succeeds at making Tommy crack a laugh, he spends the rest of the car ride providing commentary about his Twitter feed, engaging in one of the things he loves best because it’s so easy: making Tommy laugh.

 

\---

 

Twenty minutes later, at Tommy’s house, Jon refrains from asking how much he pays to get his lawn mowed, since he knows Tommy absolutely does not have time to do it himself, and that shit is immaculate.

Tommy holds the front door open for him and Jon’s about to make a comment about his unparalleled chivalry when Tommy drops his briefcase at the edge of the foyer, hands immediately going to Jon’s face as he kisses him, again and again, and then long and with tongue, and it’s like Tommy’s drinking him in. 

Lovett makes a contented noise even as he takes a step backward, letting himself fall into this moment, leading as Tommy follows, Tommy’s fingertips warm against the stubble on Jon’s cheeks, his hands cupping Jon’s jawline, keeping their mouths locked.

Lovett’s back is up against Tommy’s front door now, and he feels almost plastered to it as Tommy pins Jon’s body there with his own. He’s always found Tommy attractive, but feeling the muscles in his arms move right against him is another level entirely. Tommy takes the fingers of Jon’s good hand and threads them with his own, pressing his hand against the door, up above his shoulder. Between that and his slinged arm, he’s basically at Tommy’s mercy for balance. Vulnerable.

Tommy chooses that moment to widen his stance a little bit. Their chests have already been touching, but Lovett is now VERY aware of how hard Tommy is, because he’s bucked up against him, pressing right into Lovett, who breaks off their kiss while moaning, “God, Tommy…God…”

“Yeah?” Tommy encourages him softly, watching him for a moment, and then tilting his head. Lovett takes a slow breath to steady himself during this short reprieve but then Tommy’s attached his lips to his neck, and he can feel Tommy’s tongue on his skin and oh _God_ this is gonna leave a hickey and he doesn’t even care.

“Jesus, Tommy,” says Lovett. “Where’d you learn tt—hnggghhhh,” he trails off as Tommy’s moved closer to his Adam’s apple, humming just enough to make it even more erotic.

Tommy stops, then, and returns to his lips, kissing him once, then again, then slipping his tongue in and working it for a little bit. “Jon,” he breathes, and Lovett is a little surprised by how pleased he feels about Tommy using his first name. “I want you so bad right now.”

His blatant need and frankness leave Lovett speechless for one of a handful of times in his life. Tommy’s looking at him desperately, his eyes are so fucking blue. Jon feels almost like it’s unfair that they’re fixated like this on _him_.

The fear of unfairness passes quickly.

“Don’t stop kissing me,” he commands, taking a step towards Tommy, and kissing his lips, then murmuring into his chest. “I can’t even tell you how many times I’ve imagined this—you—”

“You’ve been wanting _me_?” Tommy asks, like he’s touched. 

“Oh, fuck off, Vietor, you know I’m gay and you’ve looked in the mirror. We’re already best friends. In what universe could you possibly fathom my not being attracted to you, like, I have a fucking pulse. I tell you how hot you are all the _time_.” He takes another step forward, fisting Tommy’s tie and pulling him in again as he kisses him, making sure there’s no question in Tommy’s mind how badly he wants this.

A whimper comes out of Tommy that makes Jon burn on the inside. He wants to make him make that sound again.

Then Tommy’s leading him to his bedroom by the hand, bringing it to his mouth while he walks, kissing the back of Lovett’s hand, his palm, the inside of his wrist.

“When’d you last take your pills?” Tommy asks gently, nodding towards Lovett’s pocket, which is rattling with each step he takes.

“Before my debrief with the FBI. Which took about an hour? That was right before I came to find you…” he says. They’ve passed through the hallway to Tommy’s bedroom, which doesn’t look like it’s been slept in in a while.

“Can I see the bottle?” Tommy asks, holding out his hand, into which Lovett slaps the rattling pill bottle. Tommy stretches out his left hand so that his watch becomes visible from underneath his shirt cuff.

Jon sits down on the bed, wincing once again as the pain in his put-upon abdominals sears right through the fog of painkillers. Lovett closes his eyes for a beat, shutting everything out, and opens them again to Tommy, who’s reading the instructions on the pill bottle carefully and then sets a timer on his watch, eyebrows furrowed in concentration while he does so.

Lovett’s watching him, his freckles, how blue his eyes are. He leans forward a little, close enough to slip his good hand underneath Tommy’s suit jacket, and rest it on his hip.

“Are you going to take _care_ of me, Tommy?” he asks with a small chuckle at his weak joke that dies when Tommy meets his eyes right away, and Lovett feels overwhelmed again, like this is happening _now_ and he is in Tommy’s _bedroom_. Tommy’s. And they are _definitely_ going to fuck.

Tommy’s set the pill bottle down on the nightstand, and sits down next to Lovett companionably, leaning forward to start unlacing his own shoes.

Jon begins to do the same, crossing his legs so that one of his ankles lies on his knee, working the laces one-handed.

“You should call your mom,” Tommy says, picking up his shoes by their heels and setting them precisely next to the wall. He removes his wallet from a back pocket, his belt from his fitted pants.

“Seriously? Come on, you’re gonna bring up my _mother_ right now, while we’re getting ready to have _sex?_ ” Jon demands.

“Ah, feeling pretty confident there?” Tommy asks with a grin. “For real, though, you’ve been all over the news for the past four days.”

“Then she’ll have seen on the news that I’m alive,” says Lovett, using his heels to shove his shoes off without bothering to involve his hands. “Can’t talk now, Mom. Big debrief with the FBI, gotta help them take down the Russian mafia in DC. And then I gotta get laid.” Tommy’s standing in front of him now, one hand running through Jon’s curls and then pausing to cup his ear.

“Any conversation with her is gonna take two hours, minimum,” Jon says. Having already slipped his sling off and gingerly removed it from his sprained arm, he reaches forward to grab Tommy’s hips. He leans forward, and presses a kiss against the bulge in Tommy’s pants, through the fabric.

Tommy inhales sharply. “Jesus, Lovett. Cutting right to the chase?”

“Hmm,” Jon says, pressing another kiss, more slowly this time, mouthing the fabric while Tommy makes a high-pitched noise, pressing forward into Jon again. 

He reaches up, leaving Tommy’s pants alone to start working the buttons on his white shirt. The fingers on his injured side can handle this task, thank God.

Tommy leans forward, shifting his weight from his feet on the floor to his knees on the bed, straddling Lovett, who leans all the way back until he’s lying down on the bed, resting his arms above his head once he’s unfastened Tommy’s final button. 

Having his arms like this makes him feel exposed. Like he’s offering himself up. He watches Tommy with interest as he bends down, his smile growing broader as Tommy gets closer, with his collared shirt hanging open, and then starts kissing Lovett.

Jon reaches up to touch him - his neck, his shoulders, his chest. His skin is so warm, even through the fucking undershirt still separating them. 

Tommy’s tongue enters his mouth and his attention drifts away from his hands to more interesting body parts.

Tommy’s grabbing his hand and pushing it away, though, and then he’s brushing up under Jon’s shirt, pushing the shirt up to expose his stomach, his chest. He spreads his hands on Lovett’s body, eyes closed while he continues to kiss him.

Lovett hisses, too much in pain to feel self-conscious about his exposed upper body, and Tommy freezes above him, shirt still hanging open, face shocked as he glances down.

“Jesus _Christ_ , Lovett! What did they _do_ to you, are you sure you shouldn’t be in the hospital? God!”

“Shh, Tommy, too loud with my headache; soft noises only. The bruises look way worse than they are.”

Tommy’s hand is skimming his stomach, looking skeptical. Jon glances down himself, and feels pretty certain that more colors have appeared on the edges of the bruises than there were three hours ago. 

“How is nothing _broken_ except your arm?” Tommy asks.

“Oh yeah, well I do have a broken rib, I guess,” says Jon, gesturing to his left side.

A look of annoyance flashes across Tommy’s face. “Are you sure we should even be doing anything? I don’t want to hurt you,” Tommy says.

Jon is alarmed that Tommy might actually allow his concern for Jon to prevent them from copulating. He rolls to his side, propping his head up with good arm, leaning his weight on his elbow while he looks at Tommy. He reaches forward slowly with his injured arm, fingers still dexterous and able to grasp the the edge of Tommy’s white, starched shirt. He glances at Tommy sidelong, and can’t keep the smirk off his face while he says, “Don’t you feel really bad for me, though? Like _really_ bad? I was gone for four days, Tommy. They were really mean to me! Big, scary, Russian guys. I’ll never believe in the good of humanity again. Uh-uh.”

“Well,” Tommy says, eyebrows raised in what’s now mock concern. “If your faith in humanity’s on the line…” He pulls Lovett’s fingers away from his shirt and up to his mouth, kissing them. Tommy’s lips are so soft. 

Then he takes the tip of one of Lovett’s fingers into his mouth and purses his lips around it, tonguing it obscenely while keeps his eyes locked on Jon’s.

“Mmmm,” says Jon, hips rolling forward involuntarily. “I’m feeling my sense of empathy returning, but there’s still no trust there. You’ve gotta do more, Tommy.”

Tommy’s giggling while crawling until he’s on top of Lovett, but actually hovering above him with no signs of wanting to rest on his side, because Tommy is a Greek god with actual core muscles.

He’s kissing Jon again, but ignoring his face in favor his jaw, spending a lot of time on his neck because it makes Jon crazy and wriggle a lot.

Jon’s already breathing heavily when Tommy starts sucking on one of his nipples. “Oh, God,” he whines, his hands moving to Tommy’s fine blond hair, cradling his head while he works on Jon. “Please,” he breathes.

“Please _what?_ ” Tommy asks, and Jon can hear the smile in his voice so he doesn’t bother opening his eyes.

“Faith in…humanity,” he says, vaguely gesturing below his waist with his hand.

Tommy laughs. “You’re usually so articulate.” He leans forward to tongue one of Jon’s nipples again. “Is this really all it takes?”

“How dare you!” Jon says, eyes flashing open while he points fake-angrily at Tommy. “I am maimed and pathetic! I was held _captive_. Most importantly, I am high on oxycodone, and I am very susceptible to hot gentlemen such as _you_ right now. Were I at the height of my powers…I would wreck you for three hours. You would be _begging_.”

“Mmm,” says Tommy, smiling while he moves downward, “Sounds pretty hot.”

“It is! It would be!” Bending down, Tommy kisses the tip of Jon’s cock gently and spreads his tongue over the head, and Lovett breaks off into a strangled noise. “It would be… _so_ h-hot,” he finishes, fading into loud moans while Tommy wraps his hand around his dick and mouths him deeper. 

Jon gasps at the sensation, and then glances down accusingly. “There is _no way_ this is your first blow job,” he grates out, one of his hands clenching the Parachute top sheet, and the other reaching down blindly to try and find Tommy’s hair. 

Tommy releases him, his lips are shiny and his cheeks flushed. “Ah. Well, that’s true. It isn’t,” he says, running his tongue up Lovett’s length, suckling the end of him, and then deep-throating him again.

“Ah-ahhhhhh, God, ahhhhh, Jesus, Tommy,” says Lovett. “You’re so good, you’re so good to me, please don’t stop, please keep-please—” he breaks off, and glances down, gratified to see Tommy’s eyes are locked on him even as his head moves, watching Jon react, his every involuntary reaction to the way Tommy is completely destroying him.

He notices, though, that Tommy had whimpered a little at his last vocalization. “My God,” he says, pressing gently on Tommy’s forehead so that he stops blowing Jon, making him pause for a moment. “You seriously get off on praise, don’t you?” Lovett asks wonderingly. “Of course you do! God. Of course y—” He breaks off as Tommy’s grip tightens and he jacks Jon off firmly. 

“Shut up, Lovett,” he says a little harshly. “I’m going to give it to you now.”

“Yes, yes, yes—please, Tommy. Yes, that’s so, good, so, so, so so—— ahhhhh,” Tommy keeps working him up and then breaking it off almost at the last second until finally Jon’s hands are fisting handfuls of his hair, begging him to please let him come until finally he does, and Tommy takes all of it, swallowing it like a champ in a way that on a better day would be enough on its own to get Jon going again almost immediately.

Instead, Tommy waits a moment to make sure he’s done, and then smiles at Lovett as he stands up. “Who’s begging now?” he asks, and then, more softly, “I’m going to get you some water. I’ll be right back.”

Jon’s still letting his breath even out again, letting his eyes open and close slowly while he becomes aware of the surroundings he was too distracted to notice before, Tommy’s soft bedding, the blues and creams that make up the decor in this bedroom.

When Tommy comes back and hands him the glass of water, he waits until Jon’s taken three sips and then sets it on the nightstand (of course he has a fucking coaster) before slipping into bed next to him. He scoots Lovett over gently but firmly, making sure not to touch any of his bruises or cause him to engage his abdominals, and lies down on his side, arms gingerly encircling Lovett, who’s still flat on his back gaping like a fish.

Tommy kisses his shoulder and then stays there, mouth pressing chastely against his skin and just watching him, quietly.

Mostly in control again, Lovett turns his head to the side, so that Tommy’s face is close, so close. He could literally count Tommy’s freckles if he wanted to.

“Were you gonna tell me at some point that you were bi?” he asks, mildly.

Tommy smiles against his shoulder, glancing down bashfully. “Yes? Maybe? It’s hard to just like, bring up,” he says. “Especially when you’ve known people forever…and they think you’re only into girls. I don’t know. And then I was confused for so long about how I felt about you…”

“Consider the fog of confusion to have been lifted,” Lovett pronounces. “I mean, it’s fine. I’m not mad, just — curious. Like I was walking and I missed a step.”

“Mmm,” Tommy said, making one of his affirmative listening noises.

“Hey, though,” Jon says, scooching himself closer to Tommy and reaching down with his hand. “I think it’s someone else’s turn…”

“Jon, I’m fine,” Tommy says, catching his hand with one of his own and running his thumb across Lovett’s knuckles. “No offense, but…you look like shit. If you kept your eyes closed longer than five seconds, you’d fall asleep immediately.”

Jon pauses; he really does feel just…perfect…right now. But he also feels guilty not reciprocating right away. “I pride myself on being a very attentive lover, you know,” he brags, looking at Tommy. “I am very adamant about maintaining a 1:1 orgasm ratio!”

“Jon,” Tommy says, laughing. “I’m fine. Let’s just sleep,” he says, reaching for Jon and pulling him close in a way that makes Lovett feel self-conscious at first, but then warm, and some unfamiliar feeling that is pleasant. Peaceful? Something in his brain is quiet for once. 

He doesn’t even remember closing his eyes.

 

\---

 

He wakes up with a start, reminding himself first that he’s safe now, and that he doesn’t have to watch what he says now (seriously, the fucking worst). The next thing he notices is Tommy’s arm, warm against the sensitive skin of his belly.

Usually he hates waking up the most. The sex is over, there are messes to be dealt with, clothes to find, excuses to make, all before he can cut away and be by himself again.

He’s aware that he’s breathing shallowly, afraid of waking Tommy up, of ever not just lying here with Tommy’s literal, muscular arms surrounding him. Holding him.

He tenses when he feels Tommy come awake anyway, despite his best efforts. Cringing inwardly, holding his breath, he waits for Tommy to pull away and sit up, or to roll over.

Instead, Tommy pulls Jon closer against his chest, and kisses the crown of his head. “That was really nice,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against Jon’s hair as he speaks.

Still inside Tommy’s embrace, Lovett twists around so that he’s facing Tommy’s chest, grimacing while his abdominals are engaged. He doesn’t say anything. Just puts a curled fist against Tommy’s chest, then slowly opens it, letting his fingers trace small arcs against Tommy’s marble chiseled skin.

Tommy’s smiling blandly, and Lovett decides that this a pretty good angle, so he leans forward and kisses Tommy’s chest while reaching down with his good hand, peeking up at Tommy’s face with a smirk while he wraps his hand around Tommy’s dick.

Tommy full-on shudders, his mouth falling open a little. Jon shifts up so he can kiss him, taking advantage of the fact that his mouth is already open to make good use of his tongue, all while moving his hand slowly, making adjustments based on how harshly Tommy moans until he settles into a rhythm.

“I’m sorry I can’t do more right now,” he murmurs while distributing kisses evenly all over Tommy’s chest, gradually moving up to his pretty neck. “But I do give a pretty good handjob if I can toot my own horn, so to speak. Mm. Ahahaha,” he laughs a little at his own joke while Tommy pulls him tighter, gripping at his back, breathing growing ragged while he presses his face into Lovett’s neck. That’s hot enough, but he’s also thrusting into Jon’s hand with everything he’s got, getting right up to the edge.

“That’s it, Tommy, that’s it. You’re so pretty right now,” Jon says, glancing down to watch his hand fisting Tommy’s cock. “God. I could watch you all day,” he says, pumping his hand just a little faster and then watching how Tommy reacts.

He whimpers once into Jon’s neck, and then clutches him hard, his uneven breaths high-pitched while he comes all over Jon.

Jon gives him a minute, until Tommy breathes again, and then he shifts upward to kiss Tommy’s forehead, gently, just once.

Tommy hugs him, hard, face buried in Lovett’s chest like possibly he’s too embarrassed for eye contact, but then he stays there and Jon realizes he just wants to stay as close as he can, for as long as he can. 

And that’s okay with Jon, too.


End file.
